


Approaching the borderline

by Taera



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Available in Russian, Established Relationship, I want to write more Monro, M/M, MOAR, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, those two need more love and warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Taera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when one haven't seen his partner for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approaching the borderline

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Подходя к рубежу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087759) by [Tatrien (Taera)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Tatrien). 



> Not beta'ed yet. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Thanks to Luthienberen I translated this fic before my other ones, yaay x))

The warm aroma of the candles was swimming in the air, mingling with the smell of sex, with the splashes of the water outside, with the wet sounds that accompanied every Monro’s — George’s — movement, and it all felt like a dream. Rather realistic one. But Shay could clearly feel his back and legs, aching from the hard day, muscles almost screaming in the need of rest, his lips swelled from kissing and nipping; he could feel how his hair, damp with sweat, was clinging to his forehead and temples. Shay could barely breathe, his moans had long ago died out into broken sobs, completely unbecoming of a man. For the last eternity, he wanted only one thing — to finally melt down and turn into a puddle that wasn’t able of processing anything, but George wasn’t allowing him that, no, he continued to gently and methodically explore Shay’s body. Not even smallest of reactions to his ministrations escaped Monro’s attention, and he turned simple touch into mind wrecking caress. He was holding Shay on the very brink of _something_ , and Shay was unable to back away, unable to rush forward and finally cross that damned line.

Never in all of his life Shay ever felt so helpless and intoxicated by the events as he felt right now, conceding to his lover’s will just like those bright times before. Not that he even considered protesting. In the past, he always thought he preferred partners who almost turned sex into a fight, but, melting in Monro’s hands, Shay understood with painful clarity how seriously he was mistaken. Now, how could he want anyone else, if he already got a taste of the forbidden fruit?

George’s hands, callous from the  hard work with the sword and pistols, were incredibly gentle, carefully drawing intricate patterns on Shay’s skin. Sometimes his touch was almost intangible, just a translucent hint of a caress, barely even brushing skin with fingertips, and Shay blissfully sighed and trembled and shivered, arching his back and trying to chase those hands but finding only air. And sometimes George was squeezing, massaging, and Shay couldn’t contain hoarse cries, couldn’t help but tear his shoulder-blades from the crumpled bedsheet, clawing at it with his sweaty hands and fidgeting under George's ministrations.

But it was Monro’s gaze that got Shay’s head spinning; with his intense eyes the older man made it perfectly clear that Shay got his full and undivided attention, which definitely intoxicated more than any ale or rum. Every time Shay trustingly reached out to kiss him, bringing his lover closer with gentle, careful hands, tugging lightly at his hair, George’s face lit up with what seemed like an awe; with Monro Shay wanted only this kind of unhurried, piercing lovemaking, as if not only their bodies merged into one whole, but also their very souls, when all of the world retreated into the background, faded to just a humming noise, and turned into a two-dimensional scene for the slow kisses, caresses, and embraces.

When two fingers, already sleek with oil, pushed inside and almost instantly found what they were seeking, and when those fingers started to carefully but knowingly stroke that spot, Shay saw stars before his eyes. He cried desperately, throwing his head back, raising his hips towards his lover’s fingers. Finally. Before meeting Monro Shay never thought it possible for him to react so strongly and bask in delight just because of the two fingers. But now that they were sharing a bed, Shay could not imagine sex less devastating and satisfying than their vivid and long-lasting lovemaking.

Thoughts were melting like a hot wax, losing their shape, leaving only heat and hunger for more. But despite how much Cormac wanted to finish the aperitif and finally move to the main course, he never really tried to take control from George. Even when only bare instincts were left, even when they were begging to stop this excruciatingly sweet torture, and Shay was writhing from lightest of touches, unable to lay still — even then he just obediently took all that Monro wanted to give him.

And he gave, oh how he gave. Only in his arms Shay felt really loved and appreciated. Only his lips, tenderly brushing over Shay’s skin, curving into barely noticeable but wonderfully sincere smile every time Shay blurted another incoherent but enthusiastic compliment — only those lips gave peace and tranquility, bliss and lightness.

“Ready?” George huskily breathed out in Shay’s ear, lips brushing skin, but not turning this accidental touch into a full-fledged kiss.

“For you — always,” Shay pulled him closer and looked for a moment into his grey-green eyes, which were shining with warmth and desire, then, acting on impulse, lightly kissed him on the lips.

George smiled in return and moved away so that he could get himself prepared for what was coming next. Without his fingers Shay felt empty, and he didn’t even try to muffle a short whimper when a shiver ran down his spine. Then he watched his lover covering his cock with oil from the cup standing on a shelf nearby, humming softly to the gentle caresses George bestowed upon him wherever he could reach, reassuring and soothing. All of this slow burning had subsided the moment George moved to stand on the knees between Shay's thighs but had flared up again as Shay wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist, pulling him closer.

Moaning and unable to hold still, Shay thrust his hips in a futile attempt to hurry George up, but the older man just smiled knowingly, pressing Shay into the bed with one hand and with the other helping himself to push inside. Monro had been always doing it so excruciatingly carefully, not even once losing his temper and pushing all the way in, to the hilt, beating air out of Shay’s lungs and remainders of his thoughts out of his head. When the feeling of fullness wasn’t enough anymore, and Cormac was barely suppressing a strong urge to growl and to arch his spine, George started moving. Slowly, deeply, cautiously. Controlling himself with an iron will and not allowing Shay to come until they both sufficiently enjoyed themselves.

Asking or begging was pointless. First several times Shay still tried to persuade Monro to stop torturing him, but soon obediently accepted that every night, spent in George’s company, would last an eternity. Actually, soon after their first meeting, when the distrust to the stranger vanished, even before they started to share a bed, it became the only possible option for Cormac — to obey. To please. To help.

When Shay regained enough of himself so that he could think somewhat clearly, moving in time with George’s thrusts, Shay loved watching how his lover, who was so masterfully and expertly controlling everything around him, had been losing his composure slowly, bit by bit. Shay loved looking into his darkened eyes and imagining those dilated pupils as wells, in which he easily fell every time he looked into them. Shay loved it when Monro couldn't contain barely audible moans, loved the concentration, attention, and care that always showed on George’s face in those moments. And when he didn’t protest to Shay clinging to his shoulders and drawing his nails down his spine, Shay understood; Monro was close. Him standing on the brink wasn’t really obvious, it could be seen only if one knew what he was looking for. Slightly uneven breathing. Unfocused gaze, not any less intent. And rare seconds, when a glimpse of more rough caresses showed up.

Because there really were several times, when in the morning Shay found conspicuous bruises on his waist and thighs, their shapes vaguely resembling hands, with Monro’s back all in scratches, red and angry.

The orgasm came in a gentle wave; gradually filling them to the brim, then cloaking like a dense fog and stripping of all senses. Leaving only blazingly bright bliss.

After some time George let out a long sigh and then carefully withdrew, not even for a moment forgetting about being considerate. Radiating content and warmth he lay down near Shay and propped himself on an elbow, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he watched Shay recovering his ability to think and perceive reality around him.

“You wore me out again,” Shay hoarsely breathed out and, feigning a frown, looked at obviously satisfied Monro.

“Don’t you think it should be the other way around?” Monro’s voice was kind and warm with affection, and Shay really couldn’t comprehend how he managed to say such ambiguities and stay calm and so gentle.

Answering only with an "hmm” to that rather fair observation, Shay stretched blissfully, rolled over to George and buried his face in the older man’s collarbone, sighing contentedly when a strong arm wound around his waist. For some time they had been lying in silence, just listening to each other’s heartbeats, and Cormac was gradually falling asleep, not bothering with the fact that he’d have to scratch off dried sperm in the morning, but then Monro heaved a sigh and, gently shaking Shay awake, guided him to the barrel in the corner for a quick rinsing. After all, it was unbecoming of a Captain to show on deck all ruffled up and red after furiously rubbing off the aftereffects of the previous heated night.

With the help of each other, they had finished with cleaning soon and finally went to sleep.

Cormac doubted that after tonight someone still had any uncertainties about what exactly was going on between he and Colonel Monro — after all, Shay wasn’t even trying to hold back his vocalizations — but he didn’t really consider it as a problem. Aboard the “Morrigan” everyone was loyal, they wouldn’t talk about such a thing with an outsider. Yes, Weeks would gibe at them for some time, and Gist would undoubtedly use new information to even the ground next time Shay says something about his first mate’s love for drinks. But it’s alright, because Cormac felt George’s rhythmical heartbeat, his quiet breathing tickling Shay’s neck.

When Shay fell asleep, his face was lit up with a happy and satisfied smile.

Under the bright sun they never talked about what was happening between them at night. For any observer from the outside, the only relations that tied them were purely business, and though sometimes Shay struggled with an itch to run up to the Colonel, hug him tightly and kiss messily, not bothering about being in public, for George’s sake Shay restrained those impulses. He wasn’t an idiot and understood perfectly well that society disapproved of such relationships as theirs, although Shay himself didn’t mind at all that Monro was a man or that he was two times older than Shay. If anything, Cormac saw those facts as advantages, because among those Shay managed to drag into his bed George certainly was the best one.

They’d arrive at Onaquaga on the day after tomorrow. It meant that the next night would also be theirs to do as they pleased, and so Cormac would finally be able to show how much he missed his lover after this half a year they spent each doing his job.


End file.
